


Tired

by travellinghopefully



Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 18:49:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4677437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/travellinghopefully/pseuds/travellinghopefully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Well this has been rattling round in my brain for weeks - its RPF smut, nice gentle smut - but smut</p>
<p>IF YOU HATE THIS SORT OF THING - DO NOT READ IT</p>
<p>No disrespect whatsoever is intended to anyone.</p>
<p>So, Peter is back from SDCC and Berlin and wherever else, he's exhausted, you've missed him - that's it!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tired

The door bell sounded

“Hang on hang on hang on.” 

Why did someone always call when you were dressed in tat, an old t-shirt of his that you wouldn’t throw away, his pyjama bottoms, anything to capture the smell and feel of him – you missed him. Nothing made up for him not being here. Mid way through a cleaning blitz – half the living room was upside down and your hair was tied up in a duster to keep it out of the way and now somebody chose to call round. You were too old to be this sulky.

The bell sounded again.

“Couldn’t find my keys love.”

He wasn’t due back ‘til Monday, it was Friday, and he was here. A dazzling smile lit up your face. You didn’t question what sequence of events had led to this bonus.  
Oh, but he looked wrecked, his eyes looked red and sore and he had at least one days growth of stubble. You held back from just leaping into his arms and wrapping your legs round him.

“Spring cleaning in August, love?” Taking in my appearance in one sweeping look, raising one eyebrow and grinning. His smile focused on you made your heart skip, every single time.

He just dropped his bag on the floor, the suit carrier followed and he stumbled into your arms – soft open mouthed kisses, your breath mingling. Too tired to form whole sentences. The gist was, he was going to bed, he had to sleep, he’d been travelling so long, in so many time zones he didn’t know his arse from his elbow.

You laughed.

You’d missed him, you tried to keep him wrapped in your arms a little longer, running your hands through his dishevelled hair. Never tiring of the warmth of him against you, the strength of his arms, the smell that was just him.

He dropped his coat on the pile confused by air conditioning and its England, and its warm.

Watching him hauling himself upstairs, clinging onto the banister for dear life. He turned and rolled his eyes at me, knowing you were unashamedly staring at his arse. You shrugged and grinned. It was easy to smile now he was home.

You tidied up in the hall, taking the suitcase and bag through to the kitchen to sort through the laundry later.

You followed him up, he sprawled over the bed a helpless starfish, his legs hanging off the end of the bed, his boots still on, his eyes closed.

“Come on love, you can’t sleep like that, your back will never forgive you – sit up, and I’ll help you – do you want me to run a bath, or will you go with a shower?”   
Keeping talking, keeping him awake, running your hand over his shoulder, down his arm, twining your fingers with his.

“I don’t think I can stand up long enough to shower, just let me sleep.” He groaned, theatrically – throwing one outstretched arm over his eyes. 

You walked over to the window, lowering the blinds, shutting out the sun.

“Clothes off, then you can sleep.” Coaxing him, cajoling him.

He forced himself upright, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, just avoiding kicking you.

“You start from the top, I’ll work my way up.” He was such a little boy sometimes.

How the fuck were his laces this knotted? Thankfully you hadn’t trimmed your nails, though they looked like shit after the cleaning – you finally prised off both his boots and pulled off his socks (once again there were holes). You took time to rub his feet, paying attention to his heels and the sensitive arches. He curled his toes.

“Stop it.” You knew it could drive him wild, you ducked your head and softly kissed the inside of his ankle.

He made you smile. Looking up, he was still working on the first cufflink.

“Do you want me to do that?” You always forgot just how useless he was when he hadn’t had enough sleep.

He held out his arm to you, lying back again. You sat on the edge of the bed and carefully removed his cufflinks and set them in the pot on bedside table. This was a ritual that had to be completed – one time you or he had casually dropped them on the floor. presuming you’d just pick it up in the morning and then had to pretty much dismantle the bedroom to find them (they were in a sock, don’t ask you how, but they were).

He was just about working his way down his shirt buttons, but he’d missed the top one and was in imminent danger of strangling himself, you rescued him, leaning in and kissing him and moved your hands to his belt. 

Before you could unzip him, he grabbed your hands. Placing gently kisses over your knuckles, he looked at you pleadingly.

“No! Please. I want you, I always want you, but I really am too tired.” 

He looked forlorn and so disgruntled. He leant forward his head touching yours, his nose rubbing against yours. He was tender and romantic and just too attractive. You kissed him, sucking on his bottom lip – he moaned and grabbed your hair, kissing you just as intently and then he pulled back. 

It was your turn to sigh. Ten days without him had been too long. You’d had the option to travel with him as always, but you couldn’t justify the time away from work, and he could probably do without you distracting him. In January you’d planned to go somewhere, but it was looking increasingly unlikely that his schedule or yours was going to allow that. Late at night before sleep wrapped in each others arms you outlined where you wanted to go, what you wanted to do. Now you were just thankful he was home. 

As if he could read your mind, he said,  
“I’m sorry love.” He paused, “You said something about a bath? 

Shaking his head at me, reading my mind again, “you aren’t sharing it.”

You tried not to pout, well, not too obviously.

He stood up, undid his trousers and pulled them and his underwear down in one, kicking them in the general direction of the laundry basket, surprisingly co-ordinated for the moment. I wrapped my arms around him again, holding him close, running a hand through his hair, kissing across his chest.

“Don’t get any ideas.”

Spoilsport, this was torture. He kissed me on the side of my neck and I leant into his touch.

“I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.” You cupped the side of his face with your palm and he rubbed himself against you. The friction from his stubble was just heavenly. Too few men looked this good bearded, clean shaven or somewhere in between – somehow, he always looked perfect. Of course, you weren’t remotely biased.

Picking up the scattered clothes and dropping them in the laundry basket you went into the bathroom. Adding something suitably soothing to the water, you turned round and saw Peter had slumped backwards and was already softly snoring. *Sigh*

You walked back to him and shook him gently, asleep or not, you couldn’t leave him like that, he’d be in agony when he finally woke.

Lurching off the bed, he staggered into the bathroom and sank into the bath, his head lolling against the back of the tub, slipping forward, his chin just above the water and then sinking lower and spluttering. When you’d had the new bathroom installed, you’d blanched at the cost of the bath tub, but it was worth it, seeing him stretched full length, luxuriating in the warm water. No good if he drowned though.

“Love you’re going to drown.” 

“OK, get in behind me, but keep your hands and legs to yourself.” He tried to sound grumpy.

He still turned and kissed you once you’d shed your clothes and joined him. He laughed, pulling the duster which was still securing your hair. You said something self-deprecating about glamour, and he kissed you again.

He leant back again, his head resting against you and closed his eyes. Ignoring his injunction you enfolded him in your arms and revelled in the bliss of just being with him – not feeling that there was a clock counting down somewhere in the background. Eventually, reluctantly, you were compelled to prod him –   
“Love, the water is getting cold.” Damn, he was wonderfully warm against you, and you knew he’d fallen asleep again, but you had to wake him.

He grumbled, demanding to just be left to sleep. Prodding him again, reminding him he was in the bath. He stumbled and splashed out creating a small tidal wave, hopefully the bath mats would soak it up. Wrapping him up in the biggest fluffiest towel, rubbing him vigorously, getting him dry before he fell asleep again. Normally you’d wrap yourself in the towel with him, but you decided to have mercy on him and yourself.

“Stay with me ‘til I fall asleep?” He looked so exhausted, so lost.

“Always.” – so what it was just after lunch?

He curled up into you, one leg over yours, his thigh perfectly between your legs, damn. One arm thrown over your chest, tucked beneath your breasts, his head nestled into your throat and his damnably wonderful hair tickling your nose. You’d said you would stay ‘til he fell asleep, but you were pretty much trapped and beyond frustrated, wanting so much to rock up against him, to kiss him over and over ‘til you didn’t know where each other began and ended, but no. Oh, the things he did to you. Having your imagination as your only company had been no comfort at all. You gently kissed whichever bit of skin you could reach. He mumbled, not quite fully asleep – you held yourself still and decided you could nap until you were able to sneak out of bed.

You blinked awake and looked across at the clock – you’d slept for 6 hours. Sleep had been well nigh impossible whilst he was away, the cats had refused to be cuddled as a substitute. You’d tried wrapping yourself round his pillow, but you just missed him. Well, so much for cleaning blitz, or work in general but it was worth it. Time with him was always worth it. You nuzzled gently against his neck.

He was still out cold, still lying exactly where he’d fallen asleep, you tried to wiggle out from under his embrace and his arm reflexively wound around you holding you close, his leg sliding up further between yours. Your breath hissed out between your teeth. 

Sleep be damned you kissed against the side of his mouth and he muttered “sleeping”. You nipped his ear lobe –   
“Keep still woman, sleeping.” Normally that would earn him a cuff round the ear. 

“Woman” – pffffbt!

His nose slid down your neck, his mouth trailed kisses over your warm skin and then he was sucking at the point that drove you wild. 

“Now let me sleep.”

You whimpered, you wriggled. For someone so slight, his dead weight was impossible to shift. He stayed still so long, you really thought he had gone back to sleep. You huffed in annoyance. Then, his hand moved to your hair, his body shifted, covering yours completely. His fingers gently raked through your hair, pressing softly, his mouth nipped and kissed and licked, sucking a path over all his favourite spots, pausing to whisper endearments and the occasional expletive as you attempted to move under him. You needed him to move. Slow and tender was glorious, you loved it when he took the time to explore every inch of you. But, it wasn’t what you needed now.

Realising you were saying “please”, over and over and then he was holding himself against you, the tip of his cock just against where you wanted him. You arched my hips up against him. He was perfect, just perfect and you had missed the feel of him so much.

“Now will you let me sleep?” He was almost giggling. Oh, he was just too insufferable.

You squealed and scrapped your finger nails over his shoulder blades. A growl and he pushed into you.

.................................................................

The following morning, he padded up behind you in the kitchen, wrapped his arms round you and kissed your hair, your ear, your neck. He murmured filth in your ear, sending jolts of arousal through you. You could feel how awake he was, his glorious hard cock pressed against your arse.

“Why are you up and dressed?” He seemed puzzled.

“The dry cleaner’s said you would be jealous if I turned up there naked again.”

“You’ve already been running errands?” he sounded disbelieving.

“Its after 11 sweetheart, you’ve slept almost a whole day. I had more sleep than I needed and you needed to rest.” You realised he probably hadn’t re-set his watch, and he had no idea what time it was.

It was glorious having him home. Sneakily you’d unplugged the phones and turned the mobiles off – if he wasn’t expected back ‘til Monday, nothing was going to interrupt your time together. Momentarily distracted you determined that this time you were going to teach him how to use skype.

“Is there any coffee?” he pleaded.

You reached across to the ever on coffee machine and poured him a mug full. It was generally best not to interfere with his need for caffeine. 

Turning round in his arms, you looked up at him.

“Lost interest already?” Rolling your hips against him, recapturing his attention.

He put the mug down, his hand moving to the back of your head, his tongue sliding against your lips and into your mouth, gently moving against yours. His other hand softly caressing your arse, pulling you closer. He tasted of coffee and mint.

Normally controlled and careful, especially outside the bedroom, naked in the kitchen in daylight was rare (you discounted his forays to forage in the fridge – you loved sneaking up behind him and grabbing his arse as he poked through the contents to find something to snack on.)

“Lose the clothes. Please.” he mumbled.

As you undressed, he focused his entire being on watching you. It had made you ridiculously self conscious when you’d first been together, but now you knew he loved every lump and bump, every scar, every stretch mark, every freckle and mole. He’d kissed every inch of you and told you over and over again, making you believe him.

“New?” a questioning raised eyebrow when I was standing before him in just your underwear. You gave in to the temptation to twirl on the spot.  
“A welcome home present.” 

He was old fashioned enough to love proper stockings – and you’d made sure to dress for him that morning. Really, he adored you whatever you wore (he’d loved you with a duster in your hair), but knowing how much it excited him made it more than worthwhile taking a little extra trouble. He was a very sensuous man.

He rubbed his fingers over the silk between your legs, not pressing hard enough, and you writhed against him as he felt how wet you were.

He lifted you onto the kitchen table and stood between your legs, yours wrapping round his hips, your arm round his neck.

His mouth dropped to your breasts, hot and wet, breath so warm, sucking against you – the sensation of heat and the contrast with the roughness of his stubble was just exquisite. His lips and tongue gently worked one nipple, and then he just pulled against you with his teeth, so softly – and you found your nails digging into his shoulders again.

He offered you his fingers and you licked and sucked on them eagerly, causing him to scrunch his eyes closed and make just the most delicious sounds. He pulled them from your mouth, putting them to better use, causing you to moan as he moved them “just so” against you.

Unwinding your arms and your legs from round him, you slid off the table and knelt on the floor in front of him. Looking up at him you ran your tongue over your lips and smiled. He groaned. You traced a path with your nose up the inside of his thigh, trailing your wet lips open mouthed over the same skin, pausing to lick and suck. He hissed as you nudged against the top of his leg, and you knew your hair was brushing against him, a maddening and infuriating tickle. 

You kept kissing him, everywhere except where he wanted you. 

Having him here with you, neither of you needing to be anywhere else, you were going to make this last. 

You could hear him imploring you and you relented a little, teasing him first with your fingers, cupping him, running your fingers over him, feeling him twitch. You blew hot breath against him, causing him to sigh, to swallow audibly, to shift his hips against you.

You loved the smell of him, the feel of him, the taste of him. You simply loved him.

Placing soft kisses against his length, you swirled your tongue over the head of his cock. His hands clenched and unclenched by his sides, resisting locking in your hair and forcing your mouth where he wanted it, that wasn’t the kind of man he was, ever. 

As you took him into your mouth you looked up at him, holding his gaze, noting his pupils blown with lust. You flicked your tongue against his most sensitive spots, feeling him tense and shake and writhe against you made you more aroused than you thought possible. As you pleasured him you circled the fingers of one hand over your clit, sliding your fingers through your own arousal, thinking of him. 

“Love?” His fingers were brushing over your shoulder bringing you back to awareness, you had lost yourself utterly in the moment. This was his way of telling you to stop. He knew you loved it when he came in your mouth (that had astonished you too, at first), but there would be time for that later. 

“Bed?” Tempted for a moment you shook your head. 

You pressed yourself against him as you slowly stood. Holding your hands on his hips, you hopped back on the table and pulled him against you.

You both lost yourselves in kissing, lips and teeth and tongues. Biting and licking and sucking and caressing. Moaning breathlessly. He moved against you, holding you close, pressing against you. Finally he pushed into you and you both groaned and paused, threatening to be overwhelmed too soon, foreheads resting together, hands softly moving over each other. He began to move, so slowly, pulling out of you almost completely and pushing back little by little, until you heard yourself begging him. Neither of you had enough breath left to kiss properly, your heads just resting against each others shoulders. He was starting to shake in your embrace, his thrusts became more frantic, his rhythm stuttering. One hand slipped between your legs, caressing you, bringing you closer, pleading with you to come. You felt yourself clenching round him, your head thrown back, his mouth on your throat, his arm holding you, not letting you go, anchoring you. And then, he was falling apart too.

No longer able to stand, he pulled you gently to the floor and you curled up in his lap, nestled against him. 

However warm he was, eventually you had to move. Now your bed seemed like the best idea in the world. Sprawled back against the kitchen cabinets, Peter looked as if he would gladly never move again. You held out your hands to him, he grasped them and pulled himself upright. You saw him wince, even though he tried to hide it. Too many hours travelling and just maybe a little too enthusiastic exertion and his back must be killing him.

Another hot bath, the massage oil and some pain killers – and of course copious rest should ensure a full recovery.

You had no intention of letting him out of bed ‘til Tuesday.

Not quite a holiday, but you had absolutely no complaints and neither did he.

**Author's Note:**

> Celebrating 100 followers on tumblr and publishing almost 40 000 words since the 30th June - which I never imagined was possible - not all of them are good words, some of them are dreadful, some of them you will have hated, but I have loved this. Watching the reader count tick upwards - and I will probably never be anyone's favourite, but this is still so much fun.
> 
> Really, everyone, thank you for letting me play.
> 
> And all you other writers, especially those of you who are writing in a second language - all of you, I am in awe.


End file.
